


losing dogs

by ballislifemccartney



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Arthur Morgan Has Low Self-Esteem, Arthur has Ptsd, Awkward Sexual Situations, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Child Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Eating Disorders, Hurt Arthur Morgan, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Knives, M/M, Mild Gore, Oblivious Arthur, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Pining Arthur, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Recreational Drug Use, Sad Arthur Morgan, Self-Harm, Sexual Tension, Suicidal Thoughts, Worried Charles, also rockstar handled Arthurs rape absolutely fucking horribly, charles has ptsd, half of this is just projection, like wtf rockstar I love you but why, sincerely a survivor, this is basically a multi-chapter vent lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-16 11:27:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29575344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ballislifemccartney/pseuds/ballislifemccartney
Summary: Charles is observant.He slowly starts to realize that Arthur is a deeply flawed individual, which sends him into a spiral of an intense longing to help.
Relationships: Abigail Roberts Marston & Arthur Morgan, Abigail Roberts Marston/John Marston, Arthur Morgan & Charles Smith, Arthur Morgan & Dutch van der Linde, Arthur Morgan/Charles Smith, Hosea Matthews & Arthur Morgan, John Marston & Arthur Morgan
Comments: 11
Kudos: 49





	1. What’s wrong, Arthur?

**Author's Note:**

> hi yall this is my first serious fanfic I’ve uploaded!! plz tell me if it sucks actual balls. anyways huge tw for self harm for this chapter, and for the whole fanfic tbh, read the tags homie

Charles has always had an automatic friendliness towards him.  
Arthur was quiet- at least most of the time, besides those spare moments where he got excited or happy and he’d started to spew out little jokes that never failed to make Charles laugh.  
But most of the time he didn’t talk much about himself. He was reserved. Charles had always respected that.  
Charles was observant, though. He didn’t need to have Arthur tell him his whole life story to understand that something was wrong. At first, Charles couldn’t put his finger on it. bags under his tired eyes, sunken and heavy-lidded. He never told stories around the fire unless specifically asked to, and even then they were short and not detailed. They always ended with pursed lips as someone else explained the story further since he could never tell it as well as everyone else could. Sometimes from across the campfire, Charles could see his hand fisted around the fabric of his pant leg, white-knuckled, his other shaking as he raised a cigarette to his lips, a thousand-yard stare out on the horizon.  
Sometimes he’d ask what was wrong. He would just take a long drag, look away, and shrug. “Nothin’.” He’d mutter. That never satisfied Charles.  
Sometimes Arthur would leave for days, maybe even weeks on end. As soon as people would get truly worried Arthur would come back empty-handed and tell everyone he just went out hunting. When Charles would ask what happened to the game he would say that he had sold it for some extra cash. Then for the rest of the day, he would sit on his cot, eyes glued to his shoes, sometimes smoking a cigarette with that same shaky hand. 

It was warm out tonight. Charles still relished in the warmth of the campfire, chin resting on his knee.  
Charles thought about many things, It felt like he spent almost every hour of the day thinking. He’d think of his mother, long, dark hair framing her thin face. Quiet lullabies she would sing to him every night as a child to lull him to sleep. She had always been good, up until the end. His father hadn’t been the same.  
Of course, he hadn’t. Most weren’t.  
He sighed, looking up slightly over the flames to see Arthur staring down at his journal, quietly doodling. He looked up from his work, meeting the other’s eyes.  
“How are you, Arthur?”  
He looked away for a moment as he closed his journal. “I’m okay.” He looked back at him. “You?”  
“I’m good. The weather is great.” He smiled. “I’m planning on going out today.”  
Arthur raised a brow. “To where?”  
“Heard of a lightly guarded stagecoach coming down a little ways from Emerald Ranch.” He shrugged.  
“You’re doing that alone?”  
He shrugged. “I guess.” He looked back up at him. “Unless you want to come with me.” Charles half expected Arthur to say no.  
“Sure.”  
Of course, he wouldn’t. He never said no to anything. That, Charles thought, was strange. Maybe he was just kind-hearted. Charles tried to keep himself from thinking too deeply into it.

Taima trotted beneath him as he patted her head gently, staring off into the distance.  
“So, what’s the plan?” Arthur wiped his brow. “You hold up the driver while I open the lockbox?”  
“That sounds about right.” Charles looked over at him. “This isn’t even going to be guarded, at least from what I heard. But if I’m wrong I’m sure we’ll be able to handle it.”  
Arthur nodded.  
It was quiet, but not the uncomfortable silence that Charles often shared with the other gang members, like Micah or Bill.  
“Me and you haven’t talked much-” Arthur muttered. “-All this time you’ve been here.”  
Charles frowned. “I’m sorry.” He shrugged. “I don’t talk much, I guess.”  
“Hey, don’t apologize,” Arthur smiled. “I-I was just saying-”  
“I know, Arthur.” He laughed. “I know what you mean.” He pulled on Taimas reigns. “The coach should arrive around here, anyways. Put on your bandana.”  
Arthur obliged. “Is that it?” he asked, pointing towards the coach appearing over the hill, it’s horsing trotting in the distance.  
“Sure is,” he flipped a piece of his hair away from his face. “Come on.” Charles snapped at Taimas’s reigns, Arthur following close behind.  
Charles would like to think the two had done pretty well, for at least the first part of the robbery, quickly stopping the coach and holding up the driver while Arthur shot off the lock of the lockbox. Though, despite Charles’s confidence, he hadn’t exactly expected multiple armed men to quickly turn up behind them. It all happened very fast, to the point where Charles, in the midst of quickly shooting the men, hadn’t noticed Arthur had been cornered.  
“Shit-”  
He could almost hear the knife slicing across Arthur’s arm, but before he could even raise his arm to hit him again Charles had blown his brains across the dirt road.  
Arthur fell back, gripping his left arm, groaning.  
“Arthur!” Charles shouted, falling to the others side. “Arthur-” Blood quickly seeped from under his hand, saturating his light blue shirt.  
“I-I’m okay-” he groaned. “-Just get the money-”  
“I don’t care about the money, Arthur!” He muttered. “Here, let me look at it-”  
“No-” He hissed. “Just get us out of here. I’ll be fine.”  
Charles held his breath. “Okay.” He gently placed his hands under Arthur’s shoulders, pulling him up as he groaned in pain. “Don’t worry, Arthur, you’ll be okay.” he cooed, gentle and soft into his ear as he hoisted him onto his feet and walked him over to Taima.  
He felt his breath hitch with every movement, little groans coming out from the back of his throat as he raised him onto his horse. “Charles-”  
“Don’t worry, Arthur, just stay calm.”  
Arthur groaned. “Charles-” he said as his breath hitched. “Behind you-”  
“What-”  
Gunshots suddenly flew through the air, missing Charles’s head by only a few inches. “Shit-!” Charles shouted, hopping on his horse. “Follow me!” he shouted at Arthurs horse, snapping at Taimas reigns. Arthur hissed as Taima galloped beneath them, his hands fisted onto Charles’s thin shirt. He could feel warm blood trickling onto his shirt, sticky and wet. Arthur groaned behind him, Taima bouncing beneath him. He could hear galloping and yelling from behind, a quiet rumbling from beneath him.  
Train tracks.  
He could hear honking in the distance, tracks only a couple hundred feet away. He whipped her reigns, Taima huffing as Arthurs horse followed quickly behind. “Come on, girl..” Charles could see the train in the distance, nearing closer to them.  
He could feel the heat bursting out of the train as they sped by, only a few feet away from getting hit.  
He pulled on her reigns, sighing. “Jesus.” He rubbed his forehead. “The most guarded coach in god-damn history.”  
Arthur rested his head against his back. He groaned, his breathing heavy.  
Charles looked behind him. “You okay?” He reached around to pat Arthurs back. “I think it’s best if we set up camp somewhere for the night.”  
Arthur nodded into his back. “Yeah, yeah, I’m okay.”  
Charles pursed his lips. “You’re bleeding a lot, Arthur.” He observed.  
He laughed. “I’m sorry.”  
“Why?” Charles inquired.  
“I got it all over ya’,” He chuckled. “I’m sorry. I know you like this shirt.”  
“Oh, Arthur.” He cooed. “Don’t be like that.”  
He didn’t respond.  
Charles swallowed roughly. “I’ll find us a spot in a minute.” He said as Taima began to trot. “Your horse followed us.”  
“She’s a good girl.”

Setting up camp was quick, even without Arthur’s help. He mostly laid against a tree, as  
Charles had asked of him, holding his arm close to his body as the blood started to clot. They had chosen a spot by a stream so Charles could easily get water to clean out Arthurs wound and give him plenty of water to rehydrate himself.  
“Okay, Arthur.”  
Arthur raised his head. “Huh?”  
“Come here.” He motioned towards him, his knees on the bank of the stream. “I have to clean your wound.”  
Arthur pursed his lips.  
“What?”  
“Nothing, I was just thinking.” He mumbled.  
Charles raised a brow. “Okay.” He turned towards the water.  
Arthur frowned as he set down beside him, sighing.  
Charles looked back up at him. “How bad does it hurt?” He asked as he touched Arthurs forearm gently. Charles frowned. “It looks like it goes up your whole arm. You have to take your shirt off.”  
Arthur, begrudgingly started to unbutton his shirt. His left arm shook heavily, his breath hitching as he struggled to push the button through the hole.  
“I can do it-”  
“No, it’s fine-”  
“Just let me do it.” He grabbed his hand, slowly placing it on Arthur’s leg. “It’ll be easier  
if you're not all tense.” Charles carefully laid his hand on his shirt, slowly unbuttoning it. He felt Arthur’s muscles twitch beneath his fingers, quiet, pained, breathing as he stared down at Charles’s hands. “Lift your arms.”  
Arthur obliged, Charles sliding off the sleeves down his arms. Charles swallowed roughly as multiple scratches and scars lined his arm down to his almost wrist slowly revealed themselves. Charles furrowed his brow.  
He wasn’t stupid- He could tell the sweat beading on Arthur’s forehead wasn’t just from the summer heat, nor was his shaking body just from the pain of the gash in his arm. Arthur's eyes avoided Charles’s, his breathing only slightly hitched.  
“Are these..” He looked up at Arthur. “From the fight?”  
Arthur shook his head. “No, I fought with an..” he frowned. “..especially nasty fox I was huntin’ a bit ago.”  
Charles furrowed his brow. “Hm. Quite the fox,” he said as he set down Arthurs shirt. He hadn’t expected that to come out so accusingly. He tried to avoid Arthur's eyes as he guided him closer to the water, splashing it onto the wound. Arthur hissed in response. “I’m sorry. This is gonna hurt.”  
Arthur nodded. “I know.”  
“You got quite the gash here, friend.” He said as he wiped away the dried blood. “We’re lucky that train came in time.”  
“I thought that coach was going to be unguarded.”  
Charles sighed. “I-” he closed his mouth. “I’m sorry.”  
Arthur sighed. “It’s okay.” He ran his free hand through his hair. “I’m sorry..for getting cut.”  
“Why are you apologizing?” Charles looked up at him. “It’s my fault.”  
Arthur’s mouth turned into a thin line.  
Charles looked back towards his wound. “You did well. You bled an awful lot, Arthur. I’m surprised you didn’t pass out.”  
Arthur stayed quiet as Charles examined his wound. It was huge. Whoever had sharpened that knife had done it well, Charles thought. It was starting to scab, but one could still see the thin layer of exposed fat. “You’re going to need stitches, Arthur.”  
“What?”  
Charles looked back up at him. “It's pretty deep.” He thought for a moment. “I have a medical kit in my satchel. I could..well, if you want. I know how to stitch wounds just fine.”  
Arthur furrowed his brow, sighing. “Sure,” He rubbed his forehead. “Go ahead.”  
Charles nodded before reaching into his bag and pulling out a bottle of whiskey. “Here, drink most of this,” He handed it to Arthur. “Leave a little bit left so I can clean the wound.”  
Arthur quickly grasped the bottle with a shaking hand, raising it to his lips and downing the majority of the bottle before handing it back to Charles.  
“Do you still have your bandana?” he asked as he took the bottle back into his hand.  
“Yeah.” He shakily reached into his pocket, pulling out a black bandana and handing it to Charles.  
“Open your mouth,” Charles ordered.  
Arthur looked away, sheepishly opening his mouth. He gagged slightly as Charles shoved the cloth into it, a slight flush forming on his cheeks.  
Charles pulled a small box out of his bag, opening it with a click, and pulling out a thread attached to a relatively thick needle. Charles looked between him and the wound for a moment, before resting his hand on Arthur’s free hand and gripping it tightly. He poured the liquid on the wound, tightening his grip on Arthur's hand as he squirmed, groaning muffled. He set down the bottle, hand still gripping Arthurs. “Okay, this is going to hurt. A lot.” Charles let go of his hand, picking up the needle. He gently positioned himself into a position where he could more accurately place the stitches, before quickly pushing the needle into the skin with a snap, pulling the thread all the through until it met the end.  
“Hmph-!” Arthur bit down on the bandana, whimpering softly, a hand gripped on his pant leg.  
“You’re doing so well, Arthur.”  
Arthur's face was flushed- red hot with pain, fists white-knuckled. Charles had to admit that it was rather..well, stomach-turning to do this, but it was better than spending a hundred dollars when he could simply do it himself.  
The procedure was fast and simple, although Charles assumed it must’ve felt much longer for Arthur, the way he twitched and bit down on the bandana with every stitch. “Okay, we’re done.” He said as he tied off the stitch. “You okay?”  
Arthur nodded weakly, shakily pulling the spit-coated bandana out of his mouth. He sighed. “What are we gonna tell the gang?”  
Charles shrugged. “That you got attacked.” his eyes fell to his arm again. It was hard to not stare at the ‘scratch marks.’  
Arthur turned towards the water, bending over to sip water out of his cupped hands. 

Charles found it hard to sleep. He spent most of the night staring at Arthurs back, slowly rising up and down as he slept. He had always known something was wrong with Arthur. He saw the little smiles he passed around camp, greetings to his fellow gang members, sometimes the quiet conversations that Charles would admittedly find rather interesting.  
It was just casual friendship, Charles thought. It was normal to be worried about one’s friends.  
Was Arthur even a friend?  
He was something, that was for sure. Arthur was strong, and contrary to the opinions of most of the gang members, Charles thought he was smart. Or, at least a little bit. Arthur didn’t judge, nor did he hold any prejudice towards anyone. Charles had noticed on one of the first nights he had started riding with the gang that Arthur always had a few books on his nightstand, usually nature-related or old Evelyn Miller books, their covers fraying and worn. Sometimes he noticed dime novels, romances, adventures, and others. Arthur always hid them at the bottom of the pile of books. Arthur would sometimes spend hours drawing, the subjects of these drawings Charles was not aware of, but they had plenty of dedication put into them.  
Arthur was kind, or at least as kind as a no-good killer can get.  
Charles wondered if others had seen those marks. He wondered why nobody ever said anything if they had seen them. Had others bought the ‘nasty fox’ ploy before or did Arthur simply not care if anyone saw anymore?  
What could Charles even do?  
In a way, he felt helpless. There was nothing he could do to stop him without overstepping boundaries. And by overstepping those it would probably ruin their friendship forever.  
Charles sighed and curled into himself. He would try to think about it in the morning.


	2. space song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> charles thinks a lot.   
> arthur notices.

The ride to camp was quiet. Arthur avoided his eye- maybe out of shame, or he was just simply awkward. Again, Charles couldn’t put his finger on it, just like everything Arthur did.   
Guilt began to eat at Charles. If he hadn’t had a quick trigger finger.The thought made Charles sick. Plus, he was the one to cause Arthur’s injury in the first place. If he had just been more careful, smarter, maybe both of their shirts would be stiff with dry blood. What an idiot he had been.  
When they had arrived at camp Charles had quickly hopped off his horse, trying to avoid any questions as he reached to help Arthur off his horse.  
“You don’t need to help me,” He grumbled. “I’m fine.”  
Charles swallowed. “I know.” He said, holding Arthurs shoulders as he got on his feet, wincing as he landed. “You should go take a bath soon. You need to clean that regularly-” he patted Arthurs shoulder as he began to walk away. “And have Miss. Grimshaw put some bandages on you after, okay?”  
Arthur nodded, grumbling as he walked towards his tent, presumably to change. Charles sighed, kicking the dirt as he walked over to his clothing hamper. Guilt still bit at his consciousness, quiet murmurings in the back of his mind about how genuinely stupid he had been. He bit his lip, bending over to pull out a clean white shirt, not bothering to check if anyone was watching as he pulled his blood-stained shirt over his head and tossed it to the side. He buttoned up his clean shirt up carefully, tucking it in his trousers. His eyelids felt heavy- he had gotten hardly any sleep, his eyes trained on Arthurs back.   
He was just worried, that’s all. His sudden interest in Arthur was just him being worried for a friend.   
Then why was it bothering him so much?  
He frowned, reaching into his pocket for a cigarette, lighting it, and taking a long drag. Arthur, for a surprisingly long time, had taken his attention by its neck. He found himself thinking of him often, those soft smiles he would give him on quiet nights at camp. When they sat next to each other by the fire, maybe a little too close, but Charles didn’t mind at all. Arthur always laughed at his jokes, always treated him with respect, much more respect than he gave other members of the camp. He didn’t like to admit it, but it made him feel special. It was almost shameful, although he didn’t know why. Arthur was just..so incredibly strange. He was shaky yet still, cold and hot, every single differing opponent he could think of. How could he not be interested in who he was? He felt like a needy biographer, hunting down famous people who didn’t want hardly anything to do with him just to hear a piece of their life stories.  
Charles was afraid, he supposed as he walked over to the cauldron of stew in the middle of camp. He was afraid of many things- bounty hunters, the law. But now his attention was focused on a different fear.   
He took a shallow bowl from Pearsons table, spooning in stew with whatever kind of meat Pearson had managed to get his hands on. It was bland and unfulfilling as he ate it, but it was a warm meal, so he had to be grateful.   
“Charles!” Dutch shouted as he walked over to him, arms spread out. “How are you, my boy?”  
He swallowed. “I’m fine-” he said as he rested his spoon on the side of the bowl. “-How about you?”  
He nodded. “Good.” he turned his head. “How was your trip with Arthur?”  
Charles looked over to see where he was facing. “Oh,” He muttered as he realized they were staring at Arthurs cot. “Fine.” He bit his lip. “Well, actually, not really.”  
He nodded. “I assumed so..” He scratched his chin. “..seeing as you two turned up looking like you’ve really been through it, covered in blood and all that.”  
He frowned, looking back at dutch. “I’m sorry.” he sighed. “I thought I had a good lead, but..well, you can see how that turned out.”   
Dutch frowned. “Don’t be sorry,” he patted Charles’s shoulder. “We all make mistakes.”  
Charles looked down at his feet. He could hear the disdain in Dutch’s voice; he was upset, maybe not at him in particular, but it still hurt. “Arthur, uh, got really hurt,” He spoke sheepishly, slowly meeting Dutch’s eyes. “He needed stitches, which I did pretty well. He’ll be fine, but he’ll have to clean and dress it every few days.”  
Dutch nodded. “How did he get hurt?”   
“We were robbing a stage, and well, things got out of hand. He got a nasty slash on his shoulder.” He gestured towards his own shoulder. “And basically his whole arm, but there's no reason to be worried about it, trust me.” He tried to sound confident. “It’ll just be a scar, but i’m sure if he uses lotion and makes sure it's properly taken care of it won't be super bad.” He had no idea if Dutch knew about those marks on Arthur’s arms, and if he didn’t, Charles could be putting him in serious danger. If Dutch found out it would probably add to the presumably growing list of problems balancing themselves on Arthurs shoulders.   
Dutch raised a brow. “Okay, okay, son.” He laughed softly. “You don’t need to worry none, I won't pry at either of you.” he patted Charles’s shoulder. “One bad take doesn't mean nothing, friend. Just try to get some money in soon, okay?”  
He nodded.  
“Good.”  
Charles swallowed roughly as he watched Dutch walk away. He hoped that Dutch wouldn’t press Arthur to show him the wound, or worse, tell Hosea about it. He could already tell that if Hosea were to see those marks then it would break his heart, despite only being here for not even a year. Hosea was good, he didn’t deserve to see that.  
He doesn’t deserve to be lied to, either.   
God, what was he to do? Every outcome seemed awful, unless somehow he found a way to help Arthur. But it wasn’t like he could do anything at all in the first place, so how would he stop him from hurting himself? Even thinking about it made his stomach turn in worry. He felt lightheaded, guilt nipping at his mind. He sighed heavily, not exactly hungry anymore, but he still raised the spoon to his lips to take another bite.   
What a mess this was going to be. 

The fire's warmth felt nice against his skin, the night's cold wind biting as it blew. He stared into the fiery embers, drink held in hand. He looked up, meeting blue eyes staring at him. “Arthur?”  
Arthurs blinked, eyes quickly snapping away from him. “What?” He shook his head. “Oh, I’m sorry,” He stared down at his feet. “I zoned out.”  
Charles frowned. “You okay?”   
Arthur looked back up at him. He stayed quiet for a moment, opening his mouth then closing it quickly without a word. “Yeah.” he said, albeit hesitantly.   
He swallowed. “You sure?” he tried to not sound too worried; though he was sure it was still apparent in his voice.  
“Yeah, I’m sure.”  
The two stayed quiet for a moment. “How's the arm?”  
“Oh, it’s fine.” He shrugged. “Hurts, but not too bad. I cleaned and dressed it, by the way.” He looked down. “Like you asked.”  
“Good, Arthur.” He said approvingly. “I’m sure that’ll heal up just fine.” Charles stared at him from across the fire, brow furrowed.   
Arthur stared back. Charles couldn’t suppress the strange feeling building up in his gut. Nerves, probably. “I’m sorry.” He muttered, finally. “I feel bad..about letting you get hurt like that.”  
Arthur smiled. “Don’t break a sweat about it, Charles. I’ll be fine.” He laughed softly. More nerves. “I’m very thankful that ya’ stitched me up so well. I probably wouldn’t have made it without you.”  
Charles smiled. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”  
“It was nice to…” He bit the inside of his cheek.”..hang out with you, I guess.”  
“You like to hangout with me?” he said, a slight hitch of amusement in his voice. “How kind of you.”  
“Aw, shut up.” He waved his hand at him dismissively. “You know what I mean.”  
Admittedly, he did not. “Okay, Arthur.” He bit his lip. Should he ask about the marks?  
No. That would be an awful idea. Charles didn’t want to ruin his chances at getting any closer with Arthur. He looked down at his feet. He looked back up, opening his mouth to say something, yet Arthur was already on his feet and walking towards his bedspread.   
He ran a hand through his hair, sighing softly. 

The next few days were rather unspectacular, filled with boring but busy chores that Charles kept his attention towards. He helped pearson skin the deer that Sean had brought in, along with chopping wood until his arms burned and feeding the chickens. His eyes drifted off occasionally, catching Arthurs every few hours. He must seem creepy, he thought, avoiding Arthur after another accidental eye contact. Maybe Arthur thinks he’s judging him, or that Charles had grown increasingly strange ever since their little trip they had shared.   
He wouldn’t be wrong, he supposed. He had felt very uncomfortable since then, and had been acting just as strange as he felt. Arthur didn’t make him uncomfortable, of course. Arthur was anything but uncomfortable.  
Besides the underlying feeling of uncomfort, things were fine. Things were going to be fine, he thought. He thought back to his old friends who had struggled with similar things that Arthur had, burning and cutting. Most of them had gotten better.  
Most.   
The familiar feeling of dread traveled down his spine.   
He remembered when one of his close friends had stopped coming to the center of town every day to hang out with the local teenagers. At first he hadn’t worried- maybe he was just sick, or his mother grounded him again for being disrespectful.   
Then the next day came. Then the next. So he went to his house a little ways off of town and knocked on the door.   
His mother said he had been gone for days. She was just as worried as him. So he went out looking for him out in the nearby woods.  
Charles would never forget him. He wished he had forgotten about him. As the years went on he had slowly forgotten everything about him, his laugh, his face, his jokes that always made him laugh. His clothes, his favorite book, none of those things he could remember, no matter how many hours he spent trying. All he could remember was his purple hands, clouded over eyes, the smell of fecal matter and urine, how loud his mother screamed when he rode back, hands shaking as he explained to her what had happened.   
The next day he cut him down from the noose. He landed on the ground with a thud, and Charles had vomited multiple times while trying to lift up his body onto the back of his horse. He had sobbed the whole way to the coroner. He had held his friend’s mothers hand during the funeral because he didn’t want her to be alone.   
He stilled. He was going to finish chopping the rest of the wood, but now his arms felt weak and his stomach turned every which way. He pulled a cigarette out of his pocket, taking a long drag as he lit it. His hands shook, his mouth felt dry and sticky. He took another shaky breath of smoke as he leaned against a nearby tree, trying to take deep breaths. It wouldn’t work- it was like it couldn’t work, his heart kept beating and he couldn’t stop it, he couldn’t stop thinking about how loud she would sob-  
Stop thinking about it, stop thinking about it.   
Why won’t she stop screaming?   
His cigarette fell from his shaking fingers, burning out on the damp ground. God, if he bent over he would pass out. He stepped on it, crushing it into the dirt just in case it could start a fire and reached to pull out another one. He felt wasteful, but if he didn’t get to smoke his cigarette right now he didn’t know what he would do-  
“You okay?”  
Charles stilled, looking up. “Arthur-” He gulped. “Hi.”  
“Hello, Charles.” He replied, walking up to him. “You didn’t answer my question.”  
Charles frowned as he placed the filter between his lips. “What was it?”  
He raised a brow. “I asked,” He raised a match to the tip of Charles’s cigarette. “Are you okay?”  
He took a long drag. “Yes.” He held his cigarette tighter this time, trying to control his shaking. “I’m fine.”  
Arthur nodded, moving to stand next to him. He stayed quiet for a moment, every few seconds looking at Charles for a moment. “It's quiet out tonight.”  
Charles nodded. “It is.”  
“It's kind of nice.” He smiled. “The birds chirpin’, the chickens making..” He thought for a moment. “Chicken noises?”  
“Clucking.” Charles corrected.  
“Yes-” he laughed. “Clucking.” He looked up, pointing towards it. “Those are crows.”  
Charles raised a brow, looking up at them. “They are.” It felt nice, the cool wind. The sky was a muted blue, the sun slowly setting the distance, casting pink and purples across the horizon. It felt good to look up at it all, pretend that there was nothing else but the sky. He looked to his side. Arthur was staring at him, big blue eyes on his dark, almost black ones.   
It felt good to pretend that there was nothing else but the sky. Nothing else but the sky and Arthur’s eyes on his own.   
“Are you okay, Charles?”  
He smiled. “Yes, I’m okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this just in: charles doesn’t understand his emotions and neither does arthur but he tries his best to help  
> also sorry if this is kinda short lol  
> next chapter comes out hopefully within the next week or sum !!

**Author's Note:**

> I hope y’all liked it :D plz comment anything you’d like to see in the story!!!


End file.
